


tell me the truth and i'll tell you a sin

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, First Time, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Porn With Plot, S9, Top Dean, truth spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2330777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunt goes wrong and Sam and Dean are captured by a witch who thinks she can split them apart with a truth serum. Dean doesn't think it's true until Sam opens his mouth and talks about how he feels for his brother and everything goes to shit. The only problem is, Dean thinks Sam has managed to lie, and Sam thinks Dean doesn't feel the same way (Don't worry-- it's a happy, smutty ending!!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me the truth and i'll tell you a sin

“Now, Sam…” she purrs, standing behind him and tracing his jawline with her knife. Her eyes flick over to Dean’s for a split second, cat-like and gloating, before she continues. “How do you really feel about your brother?”

“Oh, come  _on_ ,” Dean complains before he can stop himself, rolling his eyes. “We get this one so many fucking times. Every goddamn monster on the planet thinks they can break us apart by making us spill some bullshit secret. Well, tough luck lady, you’re not the first witch to try this.”

She seems nonplussed, simply raising an eyebrow as she appraises Dean. Reflexively, he swallows, because his shallow bravado is his only defense while he’s tied up and if it doesn’t work, they’re pretty much fucked. The witch might not be the most powerful, and might be a little shaky with her spellwork, but the truth spell sounded correct, which means she could probably get some more volatile spells correct, too.

He knows Sam keeps three hidden switchblades and she only removed two, but Dean is useless. He just needs to keep talking, keep distracting her, so Sam can get to work and gut the jackass.

“Another thing, Sam… spare no details. Tell me every single thing you feel for your brother,” she adds, winking, and Sam’s eyes widen, getting big and round.

Okay, so maybe that’s a little original… but Dean’s like 90 percent sure there is absolutely nothing Sam could say that would really change anything. He’s confident Sam doesn’t loathe him, and he can deal with any other shockers through extended bouts of alcoholism.

Dean finds he’s proven wrong when Sam opens his mouth.

“I love him,” spills out of Sam easily, quickly, almost manically. Sam’s throat is working and now he’s sweating pretty badly, and the worst thing is that he won’t even look at Dean. “More than that, I’m in love with him. I know that’s fucked up.” He laughs shortly. He's shaking a little, like he's using all of his might to try to physically stop the words from coming out of his mouth. “Trust me, I do. But it’s been a part of me my whole life. All I ever knew was Dean. Of course I was gonna fall in love with him.”

The witch just looks plain fucking uncomfortable, and Dean can’t really blame her. She’s about to say something, but it looks as if Sam isn’t quite done babbling yet.

“I’ve wanted him ever since I hit puberty. I mean, look at him. And yeah, I know he’s straight as a fucking arrow and I’m also his little brother and a freak, but that doesn’t stop the fantasies. I’m so stupidly head-over-heels with him I’m surprised he hasn’t complained about it, honestly.  _Fuck._  Jesus fucking christ.”

Sam’s spiel ends with him almost gagging, his face going pale as he struggles to keep his lunch. He’s shaking a little more now, and he still won’t look at Dean, and Dean’s brain stopped functioning at his first fucking sentence. Even if Dean did have a knife, he wouldn’t know how to use it as this point.

The witch-bitch is frozen in place, staring at Sam, trying to puzzle him out. She doesn’t say anything.

"One more thing,” Sam gasps, standing up easily, the ropes falling in a pile at his feet. “You forgot a knife, you fucking asshole.”

She’s still looking at Sam when he drives his knife into her stomach— once, twice, three times. She falls to the ground with her eyes wide open and glassy, a thick pool of blood fanning out around her stomach like the bloom of a flower. Sam’s breathing heavily, his whole chest heaving, but he’s still shaking. He kneels down next to her and stabs her again, and Dean can hear the blade hit the cement beneath her.

The slow-to-burn fury Dean sees in Sam here snaps him out of his reverie. He needs to bring Sam back to reality, back from the anger that takes hold of him sometimes. He knows later tonight Sam will probably lock himself up in his room, maudlin and rotting from the inside out with guilt.

“Sam,” he snaps, a little shorter than he’d intended for, “get the fuck away from her and untie me.”

For a moment, Dean thinks Sam didn’t hear him, that Sam only hears the blood rushing in his ears, but Sam slowly stands up and turns, silently crouching down behind Dean and untying him from the chair. Dean brings his hands forward, rubbing at his raw wrists, and looks at Sam, who in turn looks at the floor.

“We need to get out of here,” Dean says urgently, picking up the things she had stolen from them and packing them into various pockets and hidden places. He tosses Sam his Taurus, and Sam checks it for ammunition before sliding it into his waistband. Dean moves to the stairs, waiting for Sam, who stands just as stock-still as their local villain had earlier.

“What about her?” Sam finally says, his voice small. Dean swallows down the concern for his brother, because there’s about a thousand elephants in the room right now and he can’t afford to address them right now.

“Leave her,” Dean demands, “We didn’t cause any trouble, no one saw our faces. This is a bad neighborhood. They’ll chalk it up to what they always do and no one will come sniffing after us, but only if we leave right fucking now.”

Finally, Sam budges, walking over to the staircase and heading out of the suburban basement behind Dean. He’s fallen silent, and this time, Dean’s grateful for the release. They just need to get right the fuck back to Kansas, and right now. That’s all he can think about. He lets that thought take over his mind, playing over and over like a broken record, and he makes the five hour drive in three and a half.

The minute they step down into the main room of the Bunker, with all its shelves and library tables, Dean grabs Sam by the lapels of his jacket and slams him into the wall, knocking the breath out of his brother.

Sam’s eyes are bugging out of his head and he puts his hands on top of Dean’s, but Dean doesn’t release him, only shoves him again, knocking his head back against the bricks. Sam swallows and shuts his mouth, which had been hanging open. He braces himself.

"What the fuck was that?” Dean growls, right up in Sam’s face, his breath stirring Sam’s hair away from his face. Dean glares daggers, strong enough to make Sam want to beg for forgiveness, but he isn’t done yet. “Using me as a fucking ploy? Even for you, that’s low, Sam. That’s really fucking low.”

Sam frowns, puzzled. His eyes have gone to puppydog, wet with worry and his brow furrowed deeply. “What are you-”

“Shut up!” Dean roars, shaking him again. “You think you could just say something that you find sick, say something fucking taboo, to catch her off guard? You think you could use our love just so you could fucking kill her? Well, tough luck, Sam. That might be some fucking easy lie that rolls off your tongue, but that’s how I actually fucking feel. Every day of my goddamn life. I don’t give a shit if that grosses you out or whatever. Just stop it, Sam. Loving you is such a struggle when I can’t actually touch you, so please just— just don’t.  _Don’t._ ”

Dean shoves him again, and backs off, scrubbing a hand down his face. He looks over at Sam, disgusted, but mostly with himself.

Sam’s face had changed sometime during his monologue, but he’d been too full of fire to notice. Now Sam’s face is not quite neutral, almost submissive, and lined with a deep, tired sadness.

“You actually think that?” Sam asks softly, looking up at his brother, lip wobbling. “Nothing I said was a fucking lie, Dean. I was under a truth spell, for god’s sake. I really do love you. I had to say what she wanted me to while I sawed at the ropes. You gotta know that! I thought… I thought you didn’t feel the same. I thought I was a monster.”

“Do you mean any of that?” Dean returns uncertainly, all of his anger washing away into fear. He can’t tolerate if Sam is playing with him. He’d already confessed, he’d already fucked it all up— he just needs Sam to be okay with him. Who he is, even with this twisted-up feeling between them.

Sam chuckles quietly. “We’re really disfunctional,” he whispers, shaking his head and smiling, but it’s forced. Looking up at Dean’s waiting face, he scoffs. He squares his shoulders. “You really need me to spell it out for you? Yes! I meant every single fucking word. I’ve been struggling with this… thing… my entire life, and you think I’m joking! We’re in the same goddamn boat, Dean!”

During his rant, Dean had been stepping closer, hesitantly, like a damaged stray cat lured by the promise of food.

“But it’s wrong,” he hisses, voice raw and eyes red. “It’s fucking  _wrong_ , Sam.”

Sam laughs, only out of hysteria. He closes the space between them, holds Dean’s hand between them. “It doesn’t have to be,” he begs, his eyes flicking desperately between Dean’s, his pupils blown with arousal. “It’s just us, Dean. And I think we kind of deserve this, after everything.”

Sam blinks, and then he’s thrown back against the wall, with Dean’s hands balled into fists with the material of his shirt. He raises a hand, cupping Sam’s cheek, and Sam leans into it, looking earnestly and lovingly at Dean and Dean is about to fucking explode.

“What do you want me to do, Sam?” he murmurs brokenly, his body contradicting his words as he leans closer. “What are we supposed to do?”

Sam puts a hand over the one that’s latched to his face, keeping it there. He feels so starved of touch, like after Gadreel and Purgatory and Lucifer and fucking everything, Dean had stopped touching him at all. Had closed himself off, drawn the curtains closed. Now that he knows Dean feels the same, there’s so much that could happen, so much that could be repaired between them. He feels frustrated with Dean, that Dean is carrying his love for Sam like a scar, like blood on his wrists instead of something to take pride in. Dean is fragile right now, cut open, and afraid. Ashamed. Sam needs to tell him that it doesn’t have to be like that, that love wasn’t a cross to bear.

“We’re okay, I promise,” he tells Dean, voice quiet and cracking. “Please, Dean. Please. It’s not bad. You need to stop thinking of it like that. It’s love. It’s not bad. It’s good. I love you so fucking much. Please love me back. Stop hating yourself for it. Just let me in. Trust me. I’ve only asked that of you a couple of times, and I’m asking you now. Please trust me.”

Dean swallows, rubbing at his eyes roughly. “You think we can?” he asks, still unsure. “Be okay?”

Sam smiles softly, the grin forming slow over his face. He watches Dean with unhidden, unabashed love, for the first time in years. He isn’t hiding anything. “I do,” he whispers, nodding.

Before he can prepare himself- if that’s even possible- Dean has his other hand on the other side of Sam’s face, and he’s pulling Sam to him, pressing their lips together desperately, pushing them back against the wall of the Bunker.

Sam opens his mouth under Dean’s, willing and buzzing with the fact that this is actually happening. That Dean loves him back. He’d been so afraid, all these years, that Dean would hate him for it.

Yet here they were.

The thought fuels Sam, and he sucks on Dean’s tongue as it enters his mouth, letting Dean kiss him deeply and practically lap at him. He moans as Dean’s body goes flush against his, his hands still holding Sam’s face, keeping it tilted for perfect access.

Dimly it registers in Dean that he is making out with his brother. He can kind of hear it— the Bunker’s silent except for the messy sounds they’re making, as if they’re passionate lovers that had been separated for years and had finally made it back to each other. In a way, they are. Listening to Sam moan, he forgets his worries, and his dick does all the thinking for him, pressing him closer to his brother, breaking apart for quick gasps of breath before kissing him again, pressing his tongue into Sam’s mouth and sliding it around, enjoying Sam’s instant reaction and how damn enthusiastically his little brother is kissing him.

Sometime during all of this, he had gotten hard— really, really fucking hard. His body starts moving of its own accord, slowly grinding against Sam, and he can feel Sam’s erection rubbing against his through their jeans.

_Oh sweet jesus._

“Wait. Wait,” Dean orders, panting, leaning his forehead against Sam’s but sliding back a step to keep their bodies apart. “What do we do next? I mean, this is probably something we should talk about-”

“I just want  _you_ ,” Sam gasps, breaking in, and Sam makes Dean so fucking  _weak_ , like his first high school lover turning his knees to jelly or something equally mushy. Dean presses forward, but uses Herculean effort to stop himself, instead practically mashing his face against Sam’s, Sam kissing the corner of his mouth as their noses rubbed against each other and bumped against their cheeks.

“I know,” Dean assures him, doing little breathing exercises to calm himself down, “Me too. But it doesn’t work like that. I mean… if we’re going to fuck… one of us has to…” he clears his throat. “And the other has to.. uh…”

“Fuck or get fucked?” Sam supplies, unembarrassed. He laughs. “I know. So which are you?”

“You are definitely not fucking my ass, Sam,” Dean blurts out, blushing furiously.

“Fine. We’ll wean into that one,” Sam relents, and Dean ignores the implication behind it even if his dick doesn’t. “You can fuck me tonight.”

For a couple of seconds, Dean is stuck on that sentence, on the growly tone of voice Sam uses and the way his eyelids are lowered. He had always found jerk off inspiration in the little things, in the peek of Sam’s hips when he stretched and his too-small shirts rode up on his massive body, in the curve of Sam’s ass through his jeans.

Now, he’s being given the real deal. Sam’s interested in him, and is definitely acting like it, and he is probably about to see Sam naked and not have to sneak his glances. He has a feeling Sam will let him look.

“Wait, hold on a minute!” Dean fumbles, trying to keep at least some of his blood in his head. “I think we might be moving a bit too fast. I mean, I just found out it’s mutual… and… and… isthisyourfirsttimehavinggaysex?” he spits out, completely red in the face, and maybe shaking a tiny bit. Maybe.

Sam stops, drops his sexy act, and raises an eyebrow, 100% confused little brother.  _Still hot, though._ Shit. “What?” he asks, clearly puzzled.

Dean shrugs and gives a half-laugh. “I just meant… I’ve fooled around with guys once or twice and while it didn’t really do it for me, you’re different. I just wanted to know if this would be your first time or not.”

Sam stares at him, processing the information. “Oh,” he says shortly, looking at Dean in a new light. “No, it’s not my first time.”

“What?” Dean asks before he can stop himself. “When? With who?” He’s not ashamed that he suddenly wants every graphic detail of his little brother’s sex life, wants to protect him from sexual partners he’s already dealt with.

Contrary to the current mood, Sam seems to deflate; he looks away from Dean. “You… uh, you really don’t want to know,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand up and down his arm and hiding his eyes behind his hair.

“Um, wait, yes I do,” Dean corrects, stepping closer. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right, Sam.”

“Fine,” Sam sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He shakes himself off a little, like a dog, before looking Dean square in the eye. “I know how you feel about the people I’ve been with, because you comment about it a lot. So don’t do that, okay? I know what it sounds like. I know what it is. So just shut up and be decent about it for a second.”

Shocked, Dean waits, freaking the fuck out about what Sam might say next.

“Everybody experiments in college,” Sam begins, “and before I even went I knew I wasn’t 100% straight, but you and dad sometimes… well, it seemed better to pretend.”

“Wait, hold on, we weren’t homophobic!” Dean interrupts. “We would’ve been cool with it!”

“With the comments you guys made?” Sam laughs. “Sorry Dean, but I felt safer keeping that little tidbit to myself. Anyway, at college, I met Brady. So there’s him. That was the first time. And the last time… Lucifer.”

Sam’s voice goes almost silent by the end as he loses courage like a burst pipe losing water. He looks away again, his adam’s apple bobbing, a little sheen of water going across his eyes.

“Hey… whoa,” Dean soothes, closing the space between them by placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Look at me, kiddo. I don’t blame you for any of that. You didn’t know. And as for… if this is too soon for you, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want us to.”

“No!” Sam shoots out, aghast. “I totally want to. I just thought once you knew, you’d-”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Dean fills in, horrified. “Sammy, no matter who you are I fucking love you.”

Sam softens at that, giving Dean a shy smile that sends his heart fluttering. “Another thing…” Sam tries, blushing, “with them it really wasn’t— I guess I’m inexperienced.”

“So we’ll figure it out together,” Dean assures him, and when Sam leans in to kiss him, he’s fully prepared.

Sam isn’t quite sure how they got from the main room to Dean’s bedroom, but their lips had stayed together the entire way there and they miraculously hadn’t knocked into anything or done something else equally stupid. Dean pushes him down onto the bed ( _the memory foam feels nice,_  Sam thinks, and hopes it’ll remember them like this) and reaches into a drawer. He pulls out a condom and some lube, and Sam tries not to balk at the sight of it.

His last experience hadn’t had either of those things, and hadn’t exactly been happy or safe or his choice. He tries not to grimace. He’s spent so long making himself alright, stopping the flinches and the nightmares and the panic attacks. He wants hell to stop hurting him. He’s out, isn’t he? And he does want this. He loves Dean. Closing his eyes while Dean undresses, he thinks about Dean, and only Dean. When he opens his eyes, he feels safe again, surrounded by Dean and Dean’s things, and any other thought goes flying right out the window when he gets a good look at his brother.

_Fucking christ._

Dean’s not Adonis or perfectly sculpted with a six pack or some other bullshit romance novel description. Dean’s belly has gone soft, a little bit of pudge lining his body, but his legs are still long and supple. He doesn’t have much hair, only a few scraps of blonde hairs peeking around his pecs and… down there. Sam saved the best for last. He’s seen Dean’s dick before, but now he’s able to freely admire it. It’s thick and dark red with blood, and he almost feels like whimpering because what if it doesn’t fit? Sam feels a bit of satisfaction knowing he’s longer than Dean is— Dean is a solid six inches, and Sam’s just now Dean’s watching him and biting his lip.

“You’re beautiful,” Sam gasps, looking back up at Dean. “I mean, I already knew that, but… you’re gorgeous.”

Dean covers his anxiety with a cocky smile and some lude hip movement. “I know,” he gloats, winking, smoothing over the moment. Sam laughs and shakes his head.

Sam also knows that Dean’s little change of attitude wasn’t just for himself— he was trying to make Sam feel safer, make it feel more lighthearted and just purely  _them._

It worked. Sam leaned back into the pillows as Dean crawled on top of him and helped Sam pull his shirt over his body and toss it off into the corner. Dean whistled lowly, straddling Sam and looking down at his chest.

“You’re… built,” he manages, lightly tracing Sam’s muscles and watching as Sam tenses under his touch. His fingers wander until they reach the dark happy trail curling down between Sam’s hips and below his waistline. Dean hooks a finger in Sam’s jeans and looks at him from under his eyelashes. “May I?” he asks.

Sam manages a nod, watching Dean and forgetting how to blink a little bit.

Dean goes to work at Sam’s pants, getting the button to snap out and lowering the zipper. The only other sounds in the room are Sam and Dean breathing, and Sam raises his hips as Dean pulls down his jeans. There’s a wet spot on his boxers where the head of his cock is pressing up against them, and Dean stares for a moment before he slides Sam’s boxers off, too.

Dean’s mouth drops before he can stop it.

Sam’s easily seven or eight inches long, with a pornstar-perfect dick. It’s skinny and pink and curves a little to the left, with a nice big head and veins all around it.

“You’ve been holding out on me, little brother,” Dean manages, his rumbly voice shaking only slightly.

Before Sam can bite off a sarcastic remark, Dean’s face is at his thigh, kissing the inside of each of his legs before kissing the crop of wiry hair around Sam’s dick. Sam gasps, arching up a little at the touch and shoving his head back against the pillows.

Just as soon as he had gone down, Dean comes back up, kissing Sam and popping the lid off the bottle of lube with one hand. He tugs on Sam’s bottom lip before letting go. “Just let me take care of things,” Dean murmurs low in Sam’s ear, nibbling briefly at his lobe. “If it hurts, tell me to stop.”

Dean pulls back again, sitting over Sam, and puts the condom on before spreading the lube all over his fingers. He kisses Sam again, distracting him, but his hand reaches backward and his fingers press against the skin around Sam’s hole.

“It’s cold!” Sam gasps, breaking off from the kiss.

“It won’t be in a minute,” Dean tells him, circling Sam’s asshole before pressing the tip of one finger in, causing Sam to pull in a breath.

“Shh… baby,” Dean slurs easily, lost in this slow moment between them, pressing in and out, in and out, slowly, just one knuckle deep. “Just hold on for me, kay?”

Sam nods jerkily and Dean kisses him again, working him open slightly until his finger is flush against Sam’s asshole. He adds a second, hooking his fingers inside Sam, and enjoying the low moan he gets in response.

“Shit!” Sam barks, his toes curling. “That feels… good. Wow, that feels  _really_  good.”

Dean hums in agreement, urging Sam’s mouth open again and kissing him deeply as he rocks his fingers in and out of Sam, gaining momentum and absolutely loving how Sam’s hips jerk every time his fingers get close to his prostate. When Dean has three fingers in, Sam is close to coming already, breaking the kisses erratically to curse or cry out or moan sluttily in a way that shoots straight to Dean’s dick.

Dean pulls his fingers out and Sam whines, he fucking whines, pouting up at Dean. “Don’t stop,” he begs, lassoing his legs around Dean’s waist.

“Oh, I think you’ll like what comes next,” Dean assures him, slicking his dick up with more lube. “Just hold tight, Sammy.”

Sam never thought that nickname would arouse him, but that was definitely what it was doing now. Hopefully they’d have time to explore together all the other little things that turned him on.

Dean bends down between Sam’s legs, leaning forward until their noses brush against each other. He reaches between them and places the head of his dick right at the entrance to Sam’s ass, and Sam whimpers, bucking his hips and urging Dean closer, urging Dean inside of him.

Dean grabs Sam’s thigh and uses it to press himself inside, unable to stop the immediate groan that makes its way out his throat. He tests himself, pressing deeper, enjoying when the heels of Sam’s feet press into his ass and Sam begs him for more. It starts to get a little hard for himself to pull back, so he starts a shallow, slow rhythm, kissing Sam as he goes. Sam’s hands dig into his back, clawing down his spine every time he gets dangerously close to Sam’s prostate.

“Fuck… Sammy… you’re so tight,” Dean gasps, fucking Sam a little deeper, but still trying his hardest to hold back so they both don’t blow their loads right away. His hands scramble for purchase in the sheets as Sam bites his lip and whines in time with his thrusts, little soft “ah, ah, ah”s that are currently driving Dean insane.

“Dean… Dean… oh my god, shit!” Sam cries, his voice going up about three octaves as Dean finally goes balls deep, losing control of his body and just blindly fucking into Sam, his balls slapping loudly against Sam’s rim.

“Dean!” he screams, his voice still wrecked, as Dean bites and sucks at his neck, letting his hips pump in and out of Sam, finding the perfect angle to hit Sam’s prostate and make the kid lose it all.

They keep going like this for awhile, bodies moving in tandem with a perfect, electric-feeling rhythm and trying to last. Sam is muttering gibberish at this point, sentences composed of jumbled swears but mostly “Dee” and those little gasps.

Dean grunts and kisses Sam again, fucking deep and fast and losing rhythm as he got closer and closer to the edge.

“Sammy…” he growls, his teeth hitting Sam’s as Sam started panting outright, their foreheads knocking together as Dean adjusts his angle again.

They come at the exact same time, Dean’s thrusts getting shorter and faster. Sam screams Dean’s name so loudly his throat was sure to be sore, and Dean just moans low and deep into Sam’s throat, his vision whiting out as he comes inside his brother.

“I… didn’t… even… touch myself,” Sam manages to get out, completely spent. “I came all over myself… just from you fucking me.”

“I tend to have that effect,” Dean croaks, pulling slowly out of Sam and throwing the condom into the trash. He’s gone for a brief moment, grabbing some washcloths, before he comes back, wiping Sam gently down and trying his best to be careful.

Done with all his ministrations, Dean falls back down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling and smiling lazily. He hears the sheets rustle, and then Sam is pressed up against him, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder and letting an arm rest on Dean’s stomach. Dean turns his head and kisses the top of Sam’s head, moving his arm around to cradle Sam closer and rub lazy circles into his back.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” he says, and Sam hums his agreement against his chest.

“You gonna say anything?” Dean prods, a little worried it might’ve brought back some memories for his brother.

“I really got off on the incest,” Sam tells him, out of the blue.

“Huh,” Dean mumbles, at a loss for words.

“You wanted to know how I was,” Sam explains innocently, looking up at Dean with that god damn puppy dog look. “That’s how I am.”

“Incestuous,” Dean tries, testing the word in his mouth. He supposes it isn’t quite so bad, and the constant barraging of disbelieving thoughts that he was fucking his brother did help him fuck Sam into oblivion a little bit.

“Yeah.” Sam slurs tiredly, completely blissed the fuck out from mind blowing sex with his older brother. “Stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Dean retorts, just as lazily, and kisses Sam’s head again because he feels like it.

Sam sighs, pulling Dean a little closer and burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. “I could really get used to this,” he mumbles against Dean’s warm skin, and feels Dean chuckle underneath him.

“Me too, Sammy,” he yawns, pulling the comforter over them and enjoying the simple bliss of cuddling Sam while naked.

“Dean…” Sam says, shifting again, “we need to try that again. In a lot of different positions.”

“And we will,” Dean agrees. “Just get some sleep first, kay? It’s been a really long, really fucking weird day.”

“I just hope it’s not all a dream,” Sam says distantly.

Dean stops and uses his pointer finger to pry Sam’s chin away from his neck and meet his eyes. “It’s not,” he says solidly, confidently, and gives Sam a small, chaste kiss. “And I’ll kiss you again in the morning to prove it.”

“I’d like that,” Sam replies, his voice a near whisper, a telltale sign that he’d be sound asleep soon. Without being aware of what he was doing, Dean starts to hum slowly, listening to Sam sigh contentedly and stretch out against him. Within moments, he falls asleep, leaving Dean to his thoughts and plans for the morning.

 _Yeah,_  he thinks before he drifts off,  _I’m looking forward to this._


End file.
